What a wildly wonderful world, God!
You made it all, with Wisdom at your side,
made earth overflow with your wonderful creations.
Oh, look—the deep, wide sea,
brimming with fish past counting,
sardines and sharks and salmon.
Ships plow those waters,
and Leviathan, your pet dragon, romps in them.
All the creatures look expectantly to you
to give them their meals on time.
You come, and they gather around;
you open your hand and they eat from it.
If you turned your back,
they’d die in a minute—
Take back your Spirit and they die,
revert to original mud;
Send out your Spirit and they spring to life—
the whole countryside in bloom and blossom.
(Psalm 104:24-30 The Message)
Spring awakens a desire for re-creation. Re-creating childhood memories. Imagining what life was like when I didn’t mind laying on my stomach for hours looking at flowers. Blowing dandelion seeds to faraway kingdoms. Reciting the buttercup poem and tickling each others chins with abandon.
In my imagination, I return to the vegetable garden next to our childhood home. Waiting for green to ripen to red. Arguing with the next door neighbor kids about who owns the rhubarb patch on the property line. Wincing at that first bite of ripe rhubarb that makes my teeth grimace with sour delight.
My oldest son proposed a garden in our side yard. I was a bit surprised as he is moving towards a new season of leaving us soon, but in the now he desires to build and plant. To have his own salsa ingredients. To press seeds into the soil and wait for the growth.
I invited myself to partake in the adventure with him. My husband slowly warmed up to the idea and helped us build a fence this weekend to keep our pup out, and theoretically the bunnies and squirrels, too.
My mom and sister are gardening this year, as well as a few friends. It’s like there’s this need to re-create something. As an artist, the garden is more than just a practical venture; it’s a blank palette to experiment with, to arrange and see and smell and taste what is good.
And to feel the earth beneath my bare feet . . . and maybe even add a little water. I revert to childhood for awhile. How exhilarating it is to play in the mud!
Is it possible that’s how God felt when He played in the “original mud” and formed us?
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